


WIP

by mononymous77



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, F/M, First Kiss, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 19:59:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16980876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mononymous77/pseuds/mononymous77
Summary: A first kiss between Harry and Hermoine. Takes place during The Order of the Phoenix.





	WIP

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing HP fiction and I'm just getting in this whole world so apologies if it is crazy basic and lame - there is so much creativity here.

Harry crawled through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room. The back of his left hand was still stinging from detention, though “I must not tell lies” was no longer visibly carved into his skin. As he pushed himself through the portrait hole he noticed that his arms were trembling, the adrenaline and rage at the injustice of his detention still pumping through his body. He knew he had to get started on the mountain of homework that he had been assigned, but his mind felt too unsettled. He wasn’t tired, despite the late hour, but in something closer to a state of shock, and he couldn’t comprehend turning his attention to the moons of Jupiter or the goblin rebellions…

He scanned the common room – it appeared to be empty, the only light coming from a few lamps on tables scattered around the room, and the glowing embers of the fire. Looking more closely, however, he noticed a figure sitting in the large chair next to the fireplace. There were lumps of yarn at the figure’s feet and knitting needles in their lap. Harry smiled, looking at Hermione’s slumped-over figure. Her dedication to freeing house elves by tricking them into picking up up her knitted caps was admirable, if misguided. He knew that she wouldn’t appreciate waking up in the middle of the common room rather than in her comfortable, four-poster bed, and he walked over to wake her. 

“Hermione…” he whispered, rustling her lightly by the shoulder. She twitched in her sleep and then abruptly opened her eyes – looking directly at Harry with a start. “Oh!” she gasped, startled to be awake and in such close proximity to Harry. “I must have… oh…” she stammered, looking down at her knitting needles and piecing together what had happened. Harry smiled again “It’s alright, I just thought you might like to get up to bed, it’s past midnight”. “Thanks, Harry” she said, stretching her arms above her head, leaning from side to side, and giving her head a little shake while Harry stepped back. Her bushy hair was even more dishevelled than usual. “What are you still doing up?” she asked.

“Just got back from detention with Umbridge” Harry replied. 

“Now? But your detention started at five! She can’t do that!” said Hermione, indigently. “Did she give you a break for dinner?”

Harry let out a derisive laugh. “No, but honestly food was the last thing on my mind. That woman is sadistic.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry wanted to tell her, wanted so badly to share what he had just been through with someone, and wanted hear Hermione’s horror and indignation on his behalf. But he knew she would insist he tell Professor McGonagall, or would tell her herself, and he couldn’t let it get back to Umbridge that the detention had rattled him.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it, she just kept me too long is all. Made me do lines the whole time.”

“Well I think you should tell McGonagall. It’s completely inappropriate keeping you that long! How are you supposed to keep up with your homework?”

Harry suppressed a smile – clearly keeping the reality of what Umbridge had put him through from Hermione had been the right choice. 

Just then, Hermione reached out and squeezed his stinging hand, hard. “Argh!” Harry exclaimed, tugging his hand away from her grasp – the pain was such a shock – what was she doing? 

“Sorry!” said Hermione, taken aback. “What’s wrong with your hand? I was just trying to pull myself up” she said, standing up from her chair, the forgotten knitting needles tumbling to the floor.

“It’s nothing, sorry…” said Harry, rubbing the back of his hand with his thumb. “It’s just a bit tender… Quidditch injury.”

Hermione looked at him skeptically, her lips slightly pursed and bushy brows furrowed. “Are you sure? You didn’t mention it hurting earlier…”

Out of nowhere, Harry felt a stinging behind his eyes and his throat felt hot and constricted. Was he… about to cry? His mind raced in disbelief, he never cried, despite the significant traumas he had experienced in the past four years, he rarely came to tears and when he did it was in response to major tragedies like witnessing the murder of a young Quiddich captain, or being present for the pure evil of Voldemort’s return to power – he couldn’t be crying now!

“Harry?”

He started sobbing. His whole body was shaking uncontrollably and he had absolutely no power to stop it. Tears were streaming down his face and he could barely breathe. He sank to all fours, trembling, gasping and crying, in a way he hadn’t done since Cedric’s death, and maybe not even then. What was happening to him? Hermione was immediately kneeling on the ground beside him, her hands on his shoulders “Harry? Harry?! What’s happening? Are you alright? Harry?”

Almost as quickly as he had started crying, he stopped. He felt mortified. He felt exhausted. He felt empty. “I don’t… sorry… I don’t know what that was, Hermione. That’s so embarrassing...” he mumbled as he pushed himself up, leaving Hermione kneeling on the floor below him, looking up at him in confusion. She reached out for his throbbing hand, gently this time, and pulled it close to her face, examining it. Harry didn’t stop her. He was too tired and confused by what had just happened to resist. Hermione turned his hand over with hers, examining his palm and the back of his hand. 

“Did she… did Umbridge… do something to you?” Hermione asked, looking up at him once again. Harry stared back down at her. Her eyes were big and shining, and she was looking at him with what looked like an intense mixture of concern for him and fear over what he might say. 

“Harry?”

He slowly got down onto his knees, facing her. She was still holding his hand. He reached out and peeled her fingers away from his sore hand, then brought it up to her face, cupping her chin. He had never seen Hermione look like this – large eyes shining in the dimly-lit room, full lips slightly parted, a lock of fierce concern on her face – before he knew what he was doing he leaned in and kissed her. Their lips pressed together softly at first, and he felt her start with the shock of what neither of them had been expecting. Then she pressed her mouth into his, and he felt her hand reach around and clasp the back of his neck. He couldn’t believe what was happening, was this real? His head was swimming and he could feel himself harden immediately. Her tongue was in his mouth and his in hers and he had never felt anything like this. Both of their hands were moving frantically now, grasping at one another by the arms, hair, neck, cheeks, he needed to get closer to her even though they already felt like they were one. He put his head around the back of her head and guided her to the floor, their lips never parting, he needed more of her, he needed her to touch him everywhere… 

Just then, they heard the door to the portrait hole slam shut.


End file.
